Family
by Joon
Summary: Harry's latest case leads him to a criminal about to unlock a dangerous secret.
1. Chapter 1

New story! This is independent of my last multi-chapter fics so no need to have read those to read this one.

Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think!

* * *

In his line of work, Harry often got customers who looked half-embarrassed to be entering his office. He'd even had a few cases of people walking in and then immediately running out the minute he greeted them, obviously having second thoughts. Out of those who stuck around, most of them usually scrutinized the wizard with a more than healthy dose of skepticism. A few times, it had even led to unwarranted hostility about being a fake and opportunist before they stormed out. At this point, Harry was getting good at not taking any of that personally.

Pauline Gordon looked about as mortified as anyone else walking through his door. But she had the good graces to stay and not accuse him of preying on people's vulnerabilities.

"I feel…a little silly," she admitted, taking a seat.

"Trust me, a lot of people who come to me feel that way," Harry said, not entirely sure if that was supposed to sound assuring. But the young woman gave him a wan smile, the gesture accentuating the puffy eyes and the general tiredness stamped all over her face. "Tea?" he offered.

Pauline shook her head. "No, thank you. I've been hopped up on enough caffeine lately." She took a better look at her surroundings, her eye falling on a framed poster near the back. "The Astounding Dresden," she read. "Is that you?"

"Uh, no, that was my father," Harry answered. "He was a stage magician," he supplied at her curious expression.

"So…this is like a family thing?" she asked.

"Well, no. Not really. It's actually very different." The wizard smiled inwardly at how the High Council would no doubt hop up and down in a fit at having their class and skills be compared to that of stage magic.

"Are you close to your father?" Pauline inquired.

Harry paused as it appeared the first polite question had now leap frogged into personal territory rather quickly. "How can I help you, Ms. Gordon?" he asked politely instead.

An apologetic expression flittered across the young woman's face, despite Harry's genial tone. "I'm sorry. I have a tendency to ask a lot of questions when I'm stalling," she confessed.

"No, it's fine," Harry assured. "What can I do for you?"

Sighing, Pauline nervously played with a silver chain that hung a small silver cross around her neck. "I'm going to sound crazy," she began.

"Please, don't worry."

"Well…I…" she fidgeted a little longer. "I know it sounds nuts, but…I think I'm being haunted."

The somewhat dramatic and wincing way she laid out her claim made Harry wonder if she recalled that his door did say 'Wizard.' More than half his customers came to him complaining of a haunting. Usually most were unfounded.

"What makes you think you're being haunted?" he asked, keeping his voice neutral.

"Oh, god," she moaned. "I sound crazy, don't I?"

"Please, Ms. Gordon. It's not crazy. I just need a little information," he said. "Can you describe to me what's been happening?"

Much to Harry's horror, the woman began to cry instead. It wasn't even the kind with silent tears that Harry could just wait out after offering a tissue. It was the kind that involved violent sobs and where he'd need to take a more active role at consoling. Walking around to where she sat, he awkwardly patted her shoulder while offering her a few tissues from his desk.

As Pauline Gordon sat and wept into the crumpling Kleenex, Harry glanced up from the distraught woman to see Bob on the far side of apartment. The ghost had obviously heard the wailings and was giving Harry a quizzical look that seemed vaguely laced with the question of what Harry did to make the woman cry.

Harry managed to throw denial, offence, and an order to get back in the lab all in his silent reply to the ghost. A feat that made him feel rather proud.

Watching the spirit disappear back through a wall, the wizard got back to Pauline Gordon who seemed to be calming down.

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping her eyes. "I'm being hysterical."

"It's alright, really," Harry assured. "Please, take your time."

"I just…I feel like I haven't slept for the last six months."

"Is that when the haunting started happening?"

"No," she answered, brushing aside the last of her tears. The puffiness of her eyes had doubled. "My fiance, Simon. He passed away six months ago."

"I'm very sorry to hear that," said Harry, sympathetically as he re-took his seat across the table from her.

"It wasn't sudden," she explained. "He'd been diagnosed with a brain tumor. We'd all had time to prepare."

"We?"

"Me and his family. They're all very close."

Harry nodded. "And now you believe Simon could be haunting you?"

Pauline Gordon looked up sharply at his question. "I know it sounds like I simply can't let go, but these sensations that keep me up every night, it can't be just grief."

"What sort of sensations?"

Pauline's lips thinned into a grim line as she tried to find an apt description. "It started out feeling almost like…I had a leaky faucet keeping me up. It's not like I could hear it, but I could almost feel it. Just going and going. But then it became something more like intense jetlag. I'd feel exhausted from not having slept much the night before, but every time I tried to close my eyes, I'd almost feel dull pains. Like a kind of….ice cream headache?" she tried that term on for size and then grimaced. "It makes it sound almost pleasant." Her expression suggested it was very much otherwise. "Anyway," she continued. "It's been going on for nearly three months."

"Three months?"

"Yes, that's how I know it can't be just grief," Pauline reiterated. "I know I'm not done letting Simon go yet, but I was getting to a point where I wasn't moving around every day, feeling like I wanted to die and I wasn't bursting into tears every time I saw a jar of pickles because Simon loved them on his tuna fish sandwiches. I was getting better. But then these sensations started happening."

She rubbed a tired hand across her face. "I've been to doctors, therapists," she gave a short, disparaging laugh. "Simon's sister even referred me to their priest."

Harry gestured to the cross around her neck. "You're not…?"

Pauline looked down at her necklace. "Oh, no. I'm not really religious. It was a gift from Simon," she explained. "His family is very Catholic." She smiled sadly. "They'd probably laugh at me for coming to see you."

"Was Simon religious?"

"Not as much as his parents or his sister, although he became more devout as the time got closer. It's only natural, I suppose…" she trailed off.

"Was a priest there toward the end to deliver last rites?" the wizard asked. Harry didn't have that much knowledge in the practice of Catholicism. But the religion was steeped in old rituals and the wizard knew that a lot of the universe responded well to rituals, may it be from orders as widely accepted as Catholicism or from groups a little more covert like his own.

Pauline nodded. "Yes, the family priest was there."

"I see." It didn't seem likely whatever was happening to Pauline Gordon was a haunting from her deceased fiance if he'd received last rites. It might be another spirit who for whatever reason had picked the poor woman as its hauntee. Although the timing seemed a little too coincidental. Or maybe it really was nothing more than a grieving woman's imagination. Either way, he wouldn't know unless he took a look.

"This sensation you get," asked Harry. "Is it only when you're in your house?"

"It gets a little better when I stay over some place else," she admitted. "But not by much."

"Okay," Harry assessed. "I'd like to take a look at your house to get a better idea of what's going on."

"Alright," Pauline agreed. "Would tomorrow work?"

"Tomorrow's fine," said Harry. "In the mean time, I have a slightly odd request."

Pauline nodded cautiously.

"Do you have anything of Simon's that I might be able to borrow? Any possession of his that he had with him the day he passed away? It'll help me figure out if he's still…present," he added at the frown on Pauline's face.

"I don't have anything on me right now," Pauline replied. "But I have his rosary. He had that with him. Would that work? I can messenger that over to you later today."

"That'll be fine," said Harry. "And I promise, I'll return it safely to you."


	2. Chapter 2

Second chapter! Reviews are appreciated.

* * *

Harry took down a few more pertinent details from Pauline Gordon before making arrangements to meet with her tomorrow evening.

Simon Ayers had been a graphic designer, working for a small but successful firm in the city. They'd met when he'd done some freelance work for the architectural company where she was still currently employed. Shortly after their engagement, he'd been diagnosed with terminal cancer. In a few short months, the 31-year-old's life came to a pre-mature end.

A low flame heated up the potion as Harry rummaged through the shelves of his lab. "Are there any usable crystals left?" he called over his shoulder to Bob as he upturned a box on his lab's work table. A few shards bounced out and promptly rolled under a bookcase.

"Yes, there they go," Bob replied, pointing. As the wizard got down to retrieving the missing pieces, he studied the rosary that had been delivered to the office as promised by Pauline. The woman had lovingly wrapped the rosary in tissue paper and then bubble wrap before putting it in the messenger pack. "If Ayers wasn't a true believer, the last rites may not have worked."

"Well, Pauline says he got really into it toward the end," Harry said from his place on the floor. "Man, it's dusty down here. I need to clean this place."

"Yes, so you said last year."

"I'll get to it," defended the wizard.

"Yes, so you said las-"

"I get the point," Harry interrupted. He got up with a workable crystal and an arm caked in dust. Tying a leather strip to it, he dipped it into the mixture. "Even if Simon Ayers is sticking around, I don't even know if he's the one haunting her."

"You don't think he just wishes to be close to her?" asked Bob as he watched the solution light up.

"Maybe," Harry allowed, grudgingly.

"But?" asked the ghost, easily reading the hesitation in the wizard's tone.

"It's just the way she describes the haunting. It sounds almost painful. Like, physically painful. If he wanted to stay around her, couldn't he do it without hurting her?"

"You don't think she might have omitted something in your interview with her?" Bob speculated as the wizard extracted the crystal. "Something that might be causing Ayers to be upset with his fiancee?"

"What, like she cheated on him?" asked Harry. The ghost shrugged. "No…I don't think so," he said, thinking about Pauline's weeping. "It doesn't fit." Shaking the dangling shard from the leather strip, he let the excess potion drip back into the bowl before holding it up for Bob's benefit. "Gotta test it first. Make sure it's working."

"By all means," gestured the ghost.

The wizard held the crystal over the ornamented skull sitting on the work table. The crystal swayed on the cord for only a few seconds before the clear shard lit up to a bright blue color, indicating a spectral presence.

"Is there a ghost in the house?" Harry inquired with a smile.

"Yes, present," Bob replied, dryly. "The spell is working."

Nodding, the wizard moved the crystal away and waited it to fade before holding it over the rosary. He watched in silence as the shard rocked back and forth, remaining clear. Harry was close to stating Simon Ayers' spirit had passed on when the crystal began to shine the faintest shade of blue.

"He's not close," said Harry, staring at the low light.

"But he is still here," Bob pointed out.

* * *

"Guilty conscience?" he asked with an ironic grin.

From across the table, his client only grimaced and pushed a bulging envelope toward him. "It's all there." He made him wait anyway as he counted out each bill.

"Okay!" he said, pleasantly, slipping the packet into his jacket. "But before we start, Mr. Bellairs, I'm curious." At his client's heavy sigh, he held up a hand. "If you'll indulge me for a moment. I'm merely curious why you're coming to me."

"Does it matter?" He only smiled back at Bellairs, pleasantly. "Because there is no one else," answered Bellairs, tiredly. "And…in the end….I want to be with my wife."

"Which one?" he asked innocently.

"Annie. My first wife," Bellairs replied. There was a distinct lack of anger in his voice despite the insinuating look on the other man's face. If anything Bellairs looked only pale and defeated. "When we divorced I was still a young man. Back then it felt like your life would go on forever," he said, sadly. "I felt like I could never die. And Annie wanted me to live a good life. Maybe poor. But good."

"And I take it you didn't."

"No, I didn't."

"So why see me?"

"Because I'm not going to live forever. I'm going to die. And…"

"And you're scared?"

Bellairs' grey eyes stared hard and for the first time, there was some of the old fire within him. "Yes," he answered, shortly. "I'm scared. I want to be with Annie. I want to be with my family."

"Yes, family is important," he said. Bellairs missed the sarcasm.

"And there is no one else to help me. You are my last resort."

"Well, Mr. Bellairs, I'm used to being people's last resort. Comes with the job. Now," he gestured to the cot. "If you'll take off your shirt and lie down, we can get started."

Bellairs rose and walked over to the small, but clean bedding. As he took off his suit jacket and began to unbutton his shirt. A gold crucifix dangled from his throat, gleaming in the low lights as he pulled off his shirt.

The other man chuckled. "You wear a cross?"

Bellairs touched his throat, as if he'd forgotten it was even there. "I…"

"No, no, say no more," he said, stopping him. "I've seen more pathetic displays. But you can take it off now." He rolled up his sleeves. "I will warn you," he said. "This is going to hurt. But no worries. Once we're done you'll feel much better."


	3. Chapter 3

Here is the next chapter. There's a small spoiler in this one for "The Boone Identity."

Reviews are welcome and very much appreciated!

* * *

The first word that leapt to Harry's mind when he surveyed Pauline Gordon's apartment was 'orderly.' In almost direct opposition to the place's owner, who had greeted Harry in old jeans and a well creased tee shirt to match the tired lines of her face, the apartment was meticulously clean. Looking around, the wizard realized that everything was in straight lines. The furniture was set up in all right angles and even the picture frames were placed in an orderly line on the mantle, each one of equal size. The general tidiness of the place was reaching nearly obsessive compulsive heights.

Noticing his gaze, Pauline smiled. "I've been putting my insomnia to good use," she explained. "Been cleaning."

"It's very nice," Harry said. He wasn't being simply kind, the place was large and provided good lighting, even as the sun was setting outside. Though the spaciousness of the place at the moment seemed to accentuate the fact that it was too big for just Pauline. And that she had never meant to live there on her own in the first place.

Walking over to the mantle, Harry studied the set of photos. There were a few of Pauline with groups of people and several of her with a brown-haired man about her age. "Is this Simon?" he asked.

"Yes, that's him." She walked over to where Harry stood and picked up one of the photos. The couple had obviously posed for the camera, but the way in which Simon had his arm slung around Pauline's shoulders as the two smiled at the lens looked casual, as if he'd done it by instinct rather than as a pose. It made the photo look strangely intimate.

Harry found a photo that just featured Simon. The picture was overexposed and slightly blurry. The man himself was holding a filled coffee mug toward the camera in a toasting gesture. He wore a faded Boston College tee shirt and had a disarmingly sleepy grin on his face. A smile formed on Harry's face as he looked at the photo. While he'd never get a chance to meet the living, breathing Simon Ayers, he looked like a nice guy.

And now he was most likely a ghost, haunting his fiancee.

"Was Simon's rosary helpful at all?" asked Pauline.

"Uh, sort of," said Harry. It didn't seem right at this point to tell her that he'd found evidence that Simon's spirit was still lingering. At least not until he was absolutely sure it was the same spirit bothering Pauline. "I'll be able to return it tomorrow. I just want to run one mo-"

Behind her, Pauline's buzzer rang sharply. "Excuse me," she said quickly. Running back toward her hallway, she left the wizard alone in the living room.

Stepping around the area, Harry waited, trying to get a sense of something. A few seconds ticked by where the only thing hitting his senses was the soft sounds of Pauline speaking to someone at her door. The last time the wizard communed with a ghost outside of Bob had been Lisa Harding. And she'd been thoughtful enough to give him a replay of how she'd gotten shot and killed. Harry had been privileged enough to play the part of Lisa in the re-enactment. He seriously hoped Simon would find gentler ways of saying hi.

Harry had been about to take another walk around the apartment when he saw something in the corner of his eye. A brief, dark shape. Glancing over, he saw only empty furniture staring back at him. But almost immediately, he could feel a slight cooling sensation on the back of his neck. Twisting around, he looked over his shoulder and saw him.

Simon's brown hair was completely gone. And he appeared a lot more gaunt than any of his photos. But it was definitely him. His dark eyes stared at Harry, expressionless.

"Simon?" Harry whispered, mindful that Pauline could still probably hear him. The ghost didn't respond, though a definite vibration seemed to come from the spirit. The wizard began to feel the beginnings of a dull headache. "Simon, why are you still here?" he asked, quietly. The ghost instead looked at something over Harry's shoulder.

"Mr. Dresden?"

Harry whipped his head around back toward the entrance of the living room. Pauline had returned and she was now accompanied by a blonde woman. Looking back to where Simon had been, Harry saw the space was now predictably empty. When he turned back to Pauline, he could tell the woman hadn't seen or felt Simon this time around.

"So you're the wizard?" asked the blonde. Unlike Pauline during her first visit to his office, this woman had all the hostility in the world to dish out toward Harry. Her dark eyes stared daggers at the wizard while her stood with her arms crossed.

"Uh, yes, hello," Harry greeted, smiling awkwardly. It did nothing to ease the disdainful look on the blonde's face.

"Mr. Dresden, this is Julie Ayers. Simon's sister," Pauline introduced, looking faintly apologetic.

Julie Ayers looked older than Pauline, though the severe expression on her face was contributing a lot to her seeming more mature. She reminded Harry of a math teacher he'd once had in 4th grade.

"Julie was just stopping by to check in on me," Pauline said by way of explaining her presence.

"That's nice," said Harry, kindly.

"I was checking in to make sure Pauline wasn't being taken in by some con artist," Julie clarified with all the subtly of a mallet.

"Right," Harry replied, trying to look harmless.

"Have you been able to find anything?" asked Pauline.

"Well, I want to keep trying, if I may," he said, not wanting to completely lie.

"Should we leave you alone?" Pauline offered.

"Yes, is my skepticism giving you 'bad vibes'?" asked Julie, her voice stressing where the air quotes should go. Harry wondered if she'd object to being set up on a blind date with Kirmani.

The wizard was about to reply that Julie could stay and spread her vibes as much as she wanted, but Pauline graciously beat him to having to answer. "Why don't we go make some coffee?" she said to Julie. "And give Mr. Dresden a chance to work." She steered the blonde toward the kitchen area. As she exited, she threw Harry an apologetic look over her shoulder.

Once they left, the wizard took another look at where he'd seen Simon last. Nothing.

Closing his eyes, Harry blew out a steadying breath and tried to concentrate on leaving his mind open. It was a few seconds of complete silence before the wizard felt something cold brush against his face. He opened his eyes and found Simon standing nearly nose to nose with him.

"Jeez!" he hissed and took a few steps back.

Unlike before, Simon's face was no longer expressionless. In fact, the ghost appeared upset.

"Simon, why are you still here?" Harry whispered.

The ghost's dark eyes looked stricken. _"Can you help me?"_

"Help you how?" asked Harry.

_"Help me."_

"Help you how?" Harry repeated. He hated it when spirits refused to answer the most basic questions. "Simon, I can't help you unless you tell me what-"

In a flash, the ghost slid forward until the wizard could feel an icy blanket wrapping around him. The room faded in a burst of white. Harry thought he might have stumbled backwards, but as his vision cleared, he found everything moving forward. Disoriented, he stumbled, but all the action still seemed to be moving seamlessly forward. It was then that he realized he was seeing a vision.

God, he hated these.

But in about two seconds, Harry decided this ranked as one of the top five worst visions he'd ever had the misfortune of seeing.

A pair of bloody hands was in the process of stabbing a woman. Despite having already made mess of her chest, the killer was getting in several more stabs. The victim's eyes were still open in an expression of fear and shock. Harry didn't recognize the face. By the position of the hands, he knew he was seeing the vision from the stabber's point of view.

As the wizard was getting close to vomiting at the sight, the vision abruptly ended. And he was back, sitting on the floor of Pauline's clean living room, the scent of brewing coffee reaching him.

Simon was gone.

* * *

Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he firmly shut the box. The lid came down with a satisfying click, the weight of its contents now nestled inside.

Taking a permanent marker from his pocket, he wrote "J.Bellairs" across the top. He imagined his father laughing at him for using such an elementary system for keeping track of everything. Despite not having an ounce of talent when it came to electronics, his father had always imagined that one day everything would be run by computers and everything be recorded as electronic files.

But he figured, why make things complicated? A pen worked just fine. And besides, if a computer system crashed, all the records would be wiped and then where would he be? He'd have to pry open each box to figure out its contents and that would be far from pleasant.

No, his rudimentary filing system was just fine.

He shelved the box along with the others.


	4. Chapter 4

This posting is dedicated to **RhiannonB** for her incredibly kind reviews and comments!

* * *

"So what do plan on telling her?" asked Bob. 

It was morning after Harry had been treated to Simon's cinematic ghostly vision. The wizard was in his lab, staring contemplatively at the rosary that still sat on his work table. He supposed he should get something to eat for breakfast, but the memories of the past night's events had pretty much killed his appetite.

"Don't know yet," he replied. "Yes, your fiance is haunting you? Why? He might be a killer and his sins are keeping him here?" Harry tested out.

"But you didn't actually see Simon Ayers killing the woman?"

"No, but it was from the killer's point of view. Why would he show that to me?" Harry wondered.

"If Ayers is a murderer, you could just exorcise his spirit and free the poor woman from a lifetime of disturbed sleep," said Bob.

"He asked me for help, though." The idea that Simon Ayers was a killer didn't sit well with the wizard. Not just for the most obvious reasons, but that he couldn't really picture the man in those photos being so violent. Then again, looks could be deceiving. But something didn't feel right. "Maybe the murder hasn't happened yet," tried Harry. "Like it was a premonition?"

"What that Ayers' ghost had?" asked Bob, incredulously.

"Yeah, why not?"

"Harry, you might be surprised to learn that just because we're all dead, we can't see the future," said Bob.

"Are you sure? Maybe it's possible."

"I'll have to take a poll at our next convention, but no, I wouldn't bet on it," the ghost replied. He was sporting one of those looks that often made Harry feel particularly stupid.

Faintly, the wizard heard the bell of his front door jingle, indicating someone was entering. It was probably Pauline, coming to retrieve the rosary he'd promised to return to her. Grabbing it, Harry made his way to the storefront. But instead of Pauline, there was Julie Ayers.

While the blonde's clothes had changed from the night before, her facial expression remained the same.

"Ms. Ayers," Harry greeted, hesitantly. Julie Ayers surveyed the office, keeping her arms wrapped around her as if she might catch something if she wasn't careful. "What can I do for you?" he asked.

"You can start by leaving Pauline alone," stated the blonde, coldly.

"With all due respect, Ms. Ayers -"

"Oh, I don't think you have any clue what respect is, Mr. Dresden," she snapped. "What kind of man makes a living out of taking advantage of other people's grief?"

"With all due respect," Harry repeated, levelly. "Ms. Gordon came to me for help. That's all I'm trying to do."

"By what?" Julie demanded. "By telling her some fairy tale about how Simon is still with her? And let me guess, you can communicate with him for a price?"

Harry sighed. "No, that's not how I work."

"Mr. Dresden, if you want to help Pauline then stay away from her," Julie ordered. She took a step toward him and while Harry out ranked her in the height department by a good foot, there was something about her that was oddly intimidating. "She just needs some time to recover from her loss. We all do," she added. "And we don't need someone like you giving her false hope."

"She told me she was doing fine and then she started having insomnia," Harry pointed out.

"She's been to the doctors-"

"I know. She said the doctors, therapists, even your priest couldn't help her out."

"You have some nerve criticizing a man of God," Julie retorted.

Harry bit back a particularly rude response at that. She was the one coming in and accusing him and now she was calling him small-minded? "Ms. Ayers," he said, patiently. "Pauline Gordon is my client. Not you. And until she tells me otherwise, I'm still on the case."

"And what case is that?" asked the blonde. When Harry hesitated, she straightened her stance. "My brother was a good man. He doesn't need his memory dragged through this…farce."

"You sure about that?" inquired Harry.

"What?"

"That your brother was a good man?"

"What are you implying?" Julie asked. Her voice was low, but judging by the overwhelming hatred in her eyes, Harry guessed he was about two steps away from a full on verbal assault. Possibly physical.

"Pauline mentioned your family's pretty close. I just want your opinion," said Harry, keeping his voice light. "Do you think your brother was a good man? No secrets? Sins?"

He'd been expecting the slap. But it still wasn't exactly pleasant.

"Leave my family out of this!" Julie hissed. "You come near us and I'll call the police."

The threat didn't so much as dent Harry. In his lifetime, he'd come across intimidation that was a lot more frightening than the prospect of a night in jail. What was interesting was that Julie Ayers' reaction. Either she had a very short fuse or he'd just hit upon an incredibly touchy subject.

"Like I said. Pauline Gordon is my client. Until she tells me it's over, the case is still on," said Harry. His right cheek was still burning, but he resisted he urge to rub it.

Julie's dark eyes continued to pin him, but there was now a sheen of frustration that showed even she knew she was out of options at the moment. She stuck out her hand. "You have my brother's rosary, I believe. I'd like it back, please," she said with a hard primness.

"Sorry," Harry answered. "I got that from my client. And I intend to return it only to her. Company policy."

He thought for a second that Julie was going to go for his other cheek. But instead she turned quickly on her heel and left. The door slammed hard behind her.

* * *

"I'm so sorry," Pauline Gordon apologized. "Julie's not usually like that." The young woman had stopped by later in the day and apparently had gotten a call from Julie herself, detailing her visit to Harry's office. "She's really a very nice person," she pressed as Harry waved off the apology. "Simon's death hasn't been easy on her." 

"It's alright," Harry assured. "I take it they were close?"

"Very," said Pauline. "Simon considered her his best friend. And she was very protective of him."

"She sounds like a good older sister," Harry offered, despite thinking she was also a really good pain in his neck.

Pauline nodded, taking a sip of the offered tea that she'd accepted this time. "She's been through a lot. But she always looked out for Simon."

"Been through a lot?" Harry inquired, casually.

Pauline looked at him, her face appearing puzzled before something seemed to dawn on her. "Yes, well, Simon and Julie lost their father when they were children. I guess I never told you. It didn't seem all that important. Their mother got remarried when they were little and Simon's always considered Mr. Ayers to be his father."

It amazed Harry how much his clients tended to set aside rather large chunks of information as 'unimportant.' Then again, Pauline hadn't come to him to ask that he investigate Simon. Only to relieve her of a haunting.

"So Simon's biological father is dead?" asked Harry.

"Yes. Back when they were still living in Massachusetts."

"What was his name?"

"I never asked," admitted Pauline. Seeing the skeptical look on Harry's face she added, "Simon never really liked talking about it. As far as he was concerned, his father was Martin Ayers. He raised him since Simon was four and spent more time with him than his biological father ever did."

Harry had it on good experience that the length of time spent with someone didn't necessarily make them a parental figure.

"Why is any of this even relevant?" asked Pauline. "Is…is Simon really still here? Is it because of his family?"

Harry hated this part. Despite the troubles she'd been having sleeping and the headaches gained from the haunting, it was obvious that the idea of Simon still being with her somehow gave Pauline Gordon an odd sense of happiness. Perhaps it was comforting in some ways, the idea of a lingering ghost for someone who'd lost a loved one recently. And while the wizard could confirm the presence, he'd also have to be the one to deliver the news that eventually, Simon would have to move on.

"Ms. Gordon," he began. "I do think Simon's the cause of your haunting." There was that spark in Pauline's light eyes and Harry inwardly winced. "He's having trouble moving on."

"Did he….talk to you?" inquired Pauline, her voice nearly a whisper in awe.

"Sort of," the wizard answered. "He asked me for my help."

"Why? What's wrong?" she asked. There was a flicker of anxiety in her eyes.

"That's what I'm going to find out."


	5. Chapter 5

This one's a bit short, but the next piece will be longer.

A big thank you to **RhiannonB** for catching the typo in the last bit! I've smacked my beta. And by my beta I mean my imaginary one as I obviously don't have one. Heh.

* * *

Not for the first time, Harry wondered if things would be easier in his life if he could use a computer. Being charged with magical powers definitely had its perks, obviously. But it also meant he couldn't even do a Google search without the risk of the machine shorting out. He'd made the mistake once of getting into a heated argument with Murphy while walking past an Apple store. Luckily the place had been very well insured for fire damage.

So in the end, the wizard had to settle for calling in a favor. At least to do some of the more electronically-based legwork.

Luckily for him, Liz Fontaine was kind enough to agree to do some research for him. And while Harry couldn't pay her, she now had a very large favor chip she would be able to cash in sometime in the future. Or so she said when they made arrangements to meet up for lunch at a diner near Liz's office.

"You ever think about getting an assistant?" she asked, slapping down a relatively small file.

Harry pondered mentioning that he kind of had one. But then he'd have to get into the whole thing about the assistant, while being extensively knowledgeable in the occult, had even less to contribute electronic-wise since he was a ghost and couldn't touch anything. Plus, the wizard had a feeling that if Bob ever found out he called him an assistant, the spirit would torture him to death with show tunes.

"Too expensive," Harry offered as a reply instead. "So what'd you find?" he asked, opening the folder.

"That Martin and Sarah Ayers are pretty boring," the budding PI stated, taking a sip of her coffee. When the waitress came by, she ordered a very healthy sounding salad against Harry's order of a cheeseburger. "They got married back in 1980 and now run an art gallery downtown. She works there on the weekdays, he only comes in for half the week and spends the rest of his time as an art restorer. Weekends they're both active members of their local church," she listed.

Harry flipped through a few pages and saw a copy of the marriage license with Sarah Ayers' name being listed as Sarah Ewing.

"Is Ewing her maiden name?"

"Nope. Ewing's husband number one's last name," Liz supplied. "Why she wanted to keep his name beats the hell out of me," she grimaced.

The wizard looked through Liz's surprisingly tidy notes to see if the marriage had ended in divorce. Liz not being a stranger to messy ends to marriages tended to criticize clingy behavior. But Patrick Ewing was listed as having died from liver failure in 1979 when he along with his wife and children were still living in Massachusetts.

"She got married kind of quickly after her husband died," Harry noted.

"Her first deadbeat husband left behind a nice tidy debt for his family after he basically drank himself to death. The man didn't even try rehab despite having a family," Liz said, disdainfully. Also having been familiar with alcoholism, Liz also tended to be critical of people who just gave into it. "The guy also had a police record for multiple arrests on drunk and disorderly behavior. When he died, Sarah Ayers and her kids had to go on welfare. She probably thought she couldn't handle it all on her own."

Harry had a soft spot for single parents and felt a pang of sympathy. And for the first time, he felt some genuine pity toward Julie Ayers. It couldn't have been easy losing a parent and then as the older sibling act as a second mother to her little brother. Turning over the papers, he saw that Liz had been thorough enough to provide copies of birth certificates for the kids.

"How'd you get these?" he asked, impressed.

"I have my methods," she said, unable to help the slightly proud look on her face. "Not all of us need killer hockey sticks to get results."

Harry grinned as their food arrived. Chewing a fry, he riffled through the certificates.

And then paused.

"Wait," he said, pulling out one sheet. "Adam Ewing?"

"Yeah," Liz replied, frowning at Harry's confusion. "The oldest kid."

"There're only two," said Harry. "Julie and Simon."

"Not according to the very legal birth certificate copy you have there in your hands," Liz stated.

Staring at the photocopy, the wizard felt his curiosity run up several notches. Julie and Simon had an older brother. Based on the dates and lack of a death certificate, he was 8 years Simon's senior. And very much alive.

"Pauline never mentioned Simon's brother," Harry muttered to himself. And he was guessing it was because she hadn't known about him.

"Did you run any checks on Adam Ewing?" asked Harry, quickly.

"No," Liz replied. "I thought you only wanted a rundown of Martin and Sarah Ayers. Do you want me to do a run on their kids?"

Harry took a second to think it over, but shook his head. "No, that's okay. This is all fine. It's great, actually," he said, appreciatively. He noted the name of the Ayers' art gallery. Despite Julie's threat to him that any face time with her family would result in a call to the police, the wizard decided it was time to talk to Sarah Ayers. "I gotta run."

"What about your food?" she asked, looking at the untouched burger. The PI made a disbelieving face when the wizard gathered the burger in a pile of napkins. Juggling the self made To Go package and the file, Harry pulled out several bills and put it on the table.

"Thanks for the help, Liz," he said. "Lunch is on me."

"I should hope so," she said, not humorlessly.


	6. Chapter 6

Driving to the Ayers' art gallery, Harry considered what he might gain from interviewing Sarah Ayers. Technically, there was nothing to suggest Simon having a prodigal brother was connected to his spirit still being lodged in this world. Or the gory vision he had shared with the wizard. But the existence of Adam Ewing, the older brother, was an unturned stone. And if there was one thing Harry's investigative skills latched onto, it was unturned stones.

The Ayers' art gallery was an unassuming, but quietly friendly-looking little space in the more trendy area of downtown Chicago. It was appropriately named Ayers Gallery.

Harry didn't give them any points for imagination.

Inside, the Ayers gallery was neatly laid out like a miniature museum. Looking around, the wizard surveyed a watercolor of what looked like the fall of Babel and wondered how well the place did. The prices tagged onto the paintings were almost heart-stoppingly high.

"Can I help you?" asked a polite voice behind him.

A blond woman was smiling at Harry when he turned around. Based on the file, Harry knew her to be in her early 50's, though she looked deceptively younger. It was only upon closer inspection that one could see the age within the dark eyes. She had the look of someone who'd been through a difficult time and had now learned to mask her past troubles with a smile. Against her diminutive height of 5'3 in heels, Harry towered over her.

"Mrs. Ayers? I'm Harry Dresden. I was hired by Pauline Gordon," he began.

The smile on Sarah Ayers' face shifted a little to something a little more careworn. But the fact that it stayed on gave the wizard some hope that he wasn't about to get Sarah's version of her daughter's diatribe.

"Yes, Mr. Dresden. I know who you are," she said with no malice in her tone. "My daughter has spoken of you."

"All praise, I'm sure," said Harry, jokingly.

Sarah Ayers gave a brief chuckle and Harry began to like her. "I apologize for her outburst. She's a very protective person."

"So I hear."

"It's not a trait I find fault with," Sarah defended, lightly. "But it sometimes overshadows her manners." She gestured an invitation for him to follow her toward the back of the gallery. "Julie told me you list yourself as a wizard. Is that true?"

"Uh…yes," he answered, truthfully.

Sarah nodded as if he'd told her he was an accountant. "That sounds interesting. What does that mean exactly?" she asked politely.

"It means I help people with problems that are unusual. Theoretical….other…worldly," he tried, lamely. Considering that the wizard question was one he got often, he wondered why he'd never bothered to come up with a more articulate answer. But it seemed his response was good enough for the older woman, who nodded again.

Harry could tell she wasn't buying it. In her eyes, he was equal to the guy who claimed he could bend spoons on TV. But unlike her daughter, she didn't really seem to care if he was a fake.

"It doesn't really matter to me what you advertise yourself as, Mr. Dresden," said Sarah off of Harry's expression. "Pauline hired you because she felt you would be able to help her. And if you can that's all that really matters. You have your…beliefs. I have mine."

It sounded slightly condescending, but the wizard figured that was the best he could hope for.

"Well, I just have a few questions for you. In regards to Pauline's case," said Harry. Yeah, really big personal questions. Hope you don't find it intrusive.

"Yes?"

"You've been married once before?"

Sarah blinked, though she remained distantly polite. "It was a long time ago, but yes. Patrick passed away."

30 odd years had gone a long way to dull any anger she might have had against her former husband who had landed her in a hellish life. But it hadn't completely diminished it.

"He was Julie and Simon's father?"

"Yes. Although Simon was only three. I don't think he remembered Patrick much."

"What about Adam?" Harry asked.

A very subtle, but noticeable coldness spread underneath Sarah Ayers' polite expression. "How do you know about Adam?" she asked, quietly.

"I did some research," he replied.

"I'm sorry, but what exactly does any of this have to do with Pauline?"

He considered going for broke and just telling her about Simon's ghost. She'd responded pretty well to the whole wizard thing. Or at least she hadn't freaked out on him. But maybe telling her the ghost of her dead son still being around might be a bit much.

"It's…come to my attention that Simon's spirit maybe…restless," Harry tried out, edging toward what could be the verbal equivalent of sticking his hand in a bear trap. "I'm wondering if it might have something to do with his estrangement from his brother. Pauline said Simon never mentioned Adam."

Sarah's dark eyes stared at the nervous wizard for a few beats. "Mr. Dresden, you do understand that what you're telling me is insane," she said, levelly.

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

"I'm not entirely sure what you're gaining by telling Pauline something like that," she continued, stiffly. "Perhaps money. I don't really know and it's really none of my business. Pauline is a grown woman." Any traces of friendliness from before were gone. "But Adam is none of your business."

"Mrs. Ayers, I'm not- "

Before he could finish, the door to the gallery opened with a friendly chime. Much to Harry's acknowledgement of Murphy's Law, Julie Ayers walked in. The younger woman took one look at her mother and Harry in silence before she walked toward the side counter.

"I'm calling the police," she said, calmly.

"Wait, Julie, don't!" Sarah protested, quickly.

"I told you to keep away from us!" Julie hissed at Harry instead.

"I just had a few questions. That's all," Harry assured.

To his surprise, Julie didn't unleash a verbal attack, but instead looked at Sarah Ayers, who now appeared stricken and the wizard felt a large stab of guilt at that. Going over to her mother, Julie wrapped a reassuring arm around her shoulders. While she wasn't that much shorter than her daughter, Sarah suddenly looked very small and very much her age. "Mom," she said, gently. "Go in the back, okay? I'll take care of it."

"Don't call-"

"I won't call the police," she reassured. While it wasn't for his benefit, Harry felt a bit of relief at that himself. "Just go in the back and I'll come see you in a minute."

Julie went so far as to escort her mother into the back room before coming back at a thundering pace to where Harry still waited.

"Mr. Dresden, I am asking you very politely to leave. Now."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset your mother," Harry apologized, sincerely.

"Then maybe you should have stayed away," Julie replied, coldly. Despite the height difference, she grabbed onto Harry's arm and began to forcefully push him toward the door.

"I just needed to find out some information about your older brother," said Harry, quickly as he let himself be shoved toward the front. The prodding abruptly stopped.

Julie's face, for once, held something other than disdain as she looked at the wizard. She looked resigned. "Adam. You've found out about Adam." It wasn't a question.

Harry nodded and took the opportunity of Julie pausing in her kicking him out. "I wanted to know why Simon was estranged from him."

Julie Ayers sighed, rubbing hand across her forehead. "You really aren't going to leave this alone, are you?"

"Not really, no," Harry replied, getting a proverbial grip on the unturned stone and pushing.

"God," Julie muttered. "I knew you'd find out about him." She fixed Harry with her normal venomous gaze.

"How did you know I'd find out about Adam?" Harry asked, curiously.

"Because I checked up on you, obviously," Julie retorted. "Pauline tells me she's seeing a man who calls himself a wizard for help? Of course I'm going to do some research. I know you consult regularly for the police," she informed. "And I don't know if you've just gotten them all convinced of this con of yours or if the police are unusually stupid, but it's obvious you do something."

Relatively speaking, Harry would consider that a compliment from Julie Ayers. He also began to think more seriously on giving her Kirmani's phone number.

"I knew you'd end up researching into our past if you dug around about Simon," she continued. "And what do you know? I was right," she mock cheered, throwing her hands up. "You came in here and poured salt all over old wounds."

"Again, I'm sorry," said Harry.

"Not sorry enough to leave us alone, apparently." She sighed heavily again. "If I tell you about Adam, will you please leave us alone?" she asked, her tone nearly plaintive.

"Yes," promised the wizard, not hiding the slight look of surprise at the offer.

"I'd much rather you speak to me about this than my mother," Julie explained at his expression. "She's been through enough," she added, casting a worried, but loving glance at where her mother had disappeared.

For the first time since meeting her, Harry could see how underneath all the antagonism that Julie Ayers was probably a generally nice person. And he felt a rush of genuine sympathy toward her.

"I promise," he reiterated. "After this, I won't bother you or your family again."

"Let's just…" she gestured for them to move closer toward the front door and away from the back area. "We don't talk to Adam," she started. "And that's a two way street. I tried to reach him when Simon got sick, but there was nothing." Harry got the feeling if she'd really wanted to, she might have been able to locate Adam. After all, she had done a pretty good job finding out information about him. But he didn't interrupt.

"Adam was 12 when Patrick, our biological father died. Simon was too young to know Patrick and I…well, I didn't mourn him," she said, testily.

Harry didn't bother to hide his mild surprise.

"Patrick," said Julie, sticking with the first name. "Wasn't much of a father. We used to live in a very small town. Everyone knew we were the kids of the town drunk. Even our church treated us like second degree sinners. And even after he died his past sins managed to haunt us. Adam was the only one who was close to him."

Julie's gaze looked at something past Harry's shoulder as she reflected on the past. "Adam was crazy about him. He never forgave any of us for moving on. My mom had to scrape and save, but we managed to move away. Not surprisingly, he and Dad never saw eye to eye."

"You mean Martin Ayers?" Harry clarified.

"Yes, my father," said Julie, firmly. "Adam moved out as soon as he was old enough."

There was something particularly guarded about her voice when she mentioned Adam leaving home. The wizard narrowed his eyes. "He moved out?" His tone suggested whether or not the move was voluntary.

Julie shifted her eyes at the probing stare. "He and Dad had a fight. It felt better that Adam leave."

"You mean your father kicked him out."

Defense flared up in her dark eyes. "It wasn't an easy decision for any of us. I loved Adam. He was my big brother. But he was getting out of control. He was caught trying to burn down the church we belong to. It was lucky Father Braithwaite looked kindly on us. Adam just said he'd try it again. He wasn't exactly a fan. The one back in Massachusetts refused Patrick his last rites."

"Can you do that?" Harry asked, incredulously.

Julie, to her credit, looked mildly ashamed. "As I said, it was a very small town. The community there wasn't very charitable."

From what Pauline had told him, the wizard knew Julie and her remaining brother and mother had remained loyal to the church that had apparently ostracized them and went so far as to deny a person a last stab at redemption. Adam obviously wasn't so keen. Harry wasn't going to make a judgment call on someone wanting acceptance from a group that so obviously rejected them. If he was really going to be really honest and dig deep into his complex psyche, he could draw a parallel with himself and a certain High Council.

But he wasn't in the mood to depress himself.

"So none of you talk to Adam?" he asked.

"No. Mom's given up and Simon and I…" she trailed off. "Well, he's not a part of our family anymore."

It was getting to be clear that while Adam didn't make it exactly difficult for them to do so, the Ayers, formerly the Ewings, had turned away from their old life. And by grappling to hold onto it, Adam made it so that they turned away from him as well. Despite himself, he felt a shred of sympathy for the guy.

"When was the last time you spoke to your brother?"

"A few years ago, I think," Julie answered. "He was working in a club somewhere." A dark look came over her. "He actually scared me a little. He'd called me and started going off about some crazy things."

"What sort of crazy things?"

"I honestly thought maybe he'd gotten into drugs or something," said Julie.

"What sort of crazy things?" Harry repeated.

"It started out as his usual tirade on how dumb we all were for believing in that 'Catholic crap' as he so put it. Years later and he's still telling us the same thing." She shook her head in disgust.

"Ms. Ayers, what else did he say?"

She pressed her lips into a grim line. "It was insane…" she began.

* * *

"James Bellairs directed me to you," said the dark brunette. "He said you did wonders for him."

"I'm always happy to hear a client is satisfied. I don't usually get referrals."

The woman smiled, grimly. "No, I suppose not. How do any of us know your….service." She took care in selecting the word. "Your service works until we're all dead?"

"You don't, Mrs. Saxon," he replied. "Hence the lack of satisfied customers giving me referrals."

"But James seems happier. Peaceful. Very peaceful. I'd pay if only to feel something like that."

He tilted his head and regarded the lithe woman. "May I?" he asked.

"May you what?"

"Take a look?"

She frowned, but it was laced with a slightly amused sheen. "Look all you want," she answered. Leaning back, she blithely extended her arms across the back of her chair, giving him a nice view.

But his gaze upon her was not one of appreciative leering. It was more penetrating, probing. And it started to make her uncomfortable.

"Wow," he assessed. "Adultery, theft AND murder," he listed. "You've won the Sin Trifecta."

"How did you…?"

"Surely Mr. Bellairs has told you how I work."

"Yes, he has," the woman replied, regaining her composure. She sat straighter in her chair. "I didn't think you still existed. The nuns at my old high school taught us about people like you as if you were the plague." Her tone suggested what she thought about that.

"Nuns tend to be severe," he said, lightly. The brunette laughed. "So, Mrs. Saxon, if you don't believe in the power of Christ Almighty and the power of redemption, what makes you believe my skill will work?" he asked, curiously.

"Oh, I believe," answered the woman. "I just don't repent. And I have no desire to go to hell."

A grin stretched out across his face. "A lapsed, but still fearful Catholic. I have a fond spot for people like you."

"So can you help me?"

He thought about the sins he'd seen on the lovely Mrs. Saxon. They'd make a nice addition. Her crime of adultery was one that he particularly liked. It was almost what he'd been looking for.

"I think I should be able to take them off your hands," he assured.


	7. Chapter 7

"A sin eater?" Bob asked in disbelief.

"That's what Adam told her," said Harry.

"There's no such thing," the ghost insisted.

"Are you kidding? Sin eaters are historical fact," Harry argued. Yanking open the armoire, he selected out an old mythology book to the appropriate page. "Outcasts amongst their village and paid to eat the sins of the dying," he read out. "Right there. It even describes the ritual."

"Harry, it's a myth. The sin eater ritual is just nonsense. It never actually worked."

"Well, maybe the ritual that's been recorded doesn't work," Harry conceded. A quick skim showed the ritual was nothing more than a bogus prayer before eating a piece of bread that sat on the sinner's chest. "But maybe Adam's found another way," the wizard insisted. "Only, he doesn't eat them. He somehow transfers them onto other people."

"So you think Adam Ewing pulled out a sin from someone else and transferred it onto his brother, which is what's keeping him here?" Bob surmised.

"That's the working theory." The ghost remained looking unconvinced. "Bob, come on. It wouldn't be the first time the world at large almost got it right. Vampires, werewolves. The stuff out there about them in regular bookstores gets it pretty close. Why not sin eaters?"

"A person's sin isn't a tooth, Harry," said Bob, testily. "You can't just pluck it out."

"If a person can find a way to steal second chances, why not sins?" Harry pointed out.

In the midst of the charged argument, Harry missed or possibly just ignored the glower that painted the ghost's face. "Second chances are random," said Bob. "It's beyond the control of the recipient. Sins are the results of choices. _Personal_ choices. They fuse to the sinner's soul."

"Then how do you explain Simon still being here?" Harry demanded, exasperated.

"Perhaps he did murder that woman."

"No," Harry shook his head. "It doesn't feel right. Whoever stabbed that woman was a cold blooded killer. I can't believe Simon would be able to fool Pauline that much. And it's too much of a coincidence that Simon's brother of all people just happens to mention he can transfer sins." Closing the book, the wizard leaned against his worktable in thought. "The only question is, how is he doing it?"

"No, the only question is how do you stop him," Bob corrected. He still looked cynical at the idea that a sin eater was even possible, but speculated what it could mean should it be possible. "If Ewing's found a way, the implications are insurmountable. You're dealing with someone who can control the fates of souls. You need to find him."

Harry thought about the rest of his conversation with Julie Ayers. She'd been thorough enough to give him the name of the club where Adam had last worked. It wasn't much, but it was the only place he could start.

"You're right," he replied.

"So what do you intend to do?"

The wizard sighed. "Get a sin eaten, I suppose."

* * *

He did a quick set of numbers. Despite the boost in cash flow thanks to Mrs. Saxon and the removal of her three deadly sins, the money was still too low. He'd need another job if he hoped to have the funds to pay for a covert exhumation. And there was still a matter of getting the materials to construct the box.

But the spell itself…his calculations were close. Very close. He'd need just a little more time.

Three more hours of fine tuning and poring over the texts that he'd gotten last week (another drain on his funds), he decided fresh air was in order. Plus, he might have messages.

The thing he found amusing was that sin was everywhere. Watching the hot, sweaty bodies dance and writhe within the close confines of the darkened club, he knew he was in no shortage of finding a sinner. It was just a question of finding one willing to pay him to remove it.

He nodded to the bar tender as he sat down. A glass of ginger ale was passed to him. At this point in their acquaintance, the man knew he didn't drink alcohol. He was halfway through sipping down the soda when a familiar hand touched his shoulder.

"Mr. Witt," he greeted. Despite the loudness of the music, he knew the club's owner could hear him. Some sort of special skill that all club owners seemed to share.

"Got a message for you," Witt said loudly for his benefit. "Guy came by earlier. He thought you might still be working here. He wanted to see if he could set up an appointment."

While Adam knew Witt wasn't crazy about the fact that his business tended to be contracted through the club, he also knew that Witt couldn't afford to lose track of his whereabouts. He might want another murder sucked out of him in the future.

"He left his number," Witt said, passing him a piece of paper.

"Thank you," Adam all but murmured, knowing the larger man heard him.

Unfolding it, Adam read the name and number on the sheet. He paid for his drink and left to use the pay phone.

Waiting in the cold night air, the sound of an answering machine picking up clicked through the receiver in Adam's hand.

_"Hi, you've reached Harry Dresden. I'm not in. Please leave your name and number and I'll ret-"_

The machine cut out in a fit of static before the broken whine of the universal answering machine's beep.

Adam hung up without leaving a message.

He stared at the paper again.

Walking back into the club, still engulfed in deafening tones, he waved over the bar tender.

"Can I borrow your phonebook?" he shouted.

A search under the residence white pages didn't turn up anything. And then he tried the business pages and came across one listing that matched the number. In very large lettering, it read "Harry Dresden, Wizard."

Reading the rest of the ad, Adam silently crumpled the scrap of paper in his hand.

* * *

_"Please leave your name and number and I'll ret-"_

Hearing his own voice give into the shrieks of static, Harry winced.

"At least it got my name out," he said as the machine's choppy beep got cut off for good as the caller hung up.

"Adam?" Bob asked, watching as the wizard awkwardly pressed the stop button.

"Who else would call at this hour?" Harry reasoned. He gazed expectedly to the darkened streets outside his store windows. "And if he's anything like his sister, he'll do a little research on me before stopping by."


	8. Chapter 8

The next one.

In response to a question posed in the review section by **Mercredi **regarding my usage of the name "J.Bellairs": you are absolutely correct.

I was thinking of the author of the same name when I used it. Actually, most of the character names I use in my stories are pulled from my geeky fanlove of either books or other fandoms. Several points and applause for anyone who can get where I stole the name "Adam Ewing." Oh and just to note: if these characters with the inspired names are less than morally strong, it's not anything against the original.

* * *

The wards pulsed slightly, letting Harry know he had a visitor approaching.

While night had fallen, the wizard had left his blinds open to give the outside a view of his darkened storefront, lit dimly by candles. Standing off to the side by his front door, he remained out of sight.

From where he stood, Harry could see a square of light on his floor, cast by the light of the street lamps, his name reflected backwards on the wood. But soon the outline of a man filled the frame.

The door opened slowly before a tall figure stepped through. A man walked two steps into Harry's range before the wizard calmly lowered and pressed the end the charged hockey stick beside the man's exposed neck.

"Okay, lift up your hands," Harry ordered. "Slowly." Keeping his back to the wizard, the new arrival did as he was told. "Adam Ewing?"

"Yes," the man answered, quietly.

"My client is Pauline Gordon. Your late brother's fiancee." Adam didn't move. "I know what you did to Simon."

Adam shifted slightly and Harry only pressed harder on the hockey stick. "How do you know about that?" asked Adam, stilling.

"His ghost is still haunting her."

"Simon's ghost is still here? How did you see him?" Interest laced his voice.

"See the chair in the middle of the room? We're going to walk over nice and slow. And you're going to sit down," Harry directed.

"I don't know what-"

"Questions later," the wizard said. "Sit down. Hands on the armrests."

Harry carefully kept the hockey stick where it was as he led Ewing to the waiting chair. Carefully, he turned around. The wooden stick remained resting against his skin as he pivoted and slowly sat down. Up close, Harry could see symbols tattooed on Adam's hands. They were spidery, intricate markings that ran across his fingers and the palm of his hands. Narrowing his eyes, Harry realized that he didn't recognize them.

Unlike his siblings, Adam Ewing was tall, nearly matching Harry in height. And while his features were older and sharper than the ghostly ones Harry had seen, it was obvious Adam was Simon Ayers' brother. The dark eyes looked up at Harry and then noticed what the wizard was holding in his hands.

"A hockey stick? Are you kidding me?" He moved to bat it away with his hand and felt a light shock. "Jesus!" he exclaimed, clamping a hand on the painful burn mark on his neck.

"Hand on the armrest! Now!" Harry ordered.

"The fuck is that?" Adam demanded.

Looking at the man, the wizard saw that he really didn't know. Nor had he sensed anything out of the ordinary about the disguised staff.

"How do you reverse the spell on your brother?" Harry asked instead.

"Why do you care?" Adam exclaimed. "It's not any of your business!"

"I've been hired and that makes it my business," said Harry. "Oh, yeah. And I also have a general objection of innocent souls getting damned for no good reason."

"I needed the money," stated Adam.

"People pay you to suck our the sins, not to put it into other people."

"I couldn't house all of them," Adam protested. "I couldn't make enough boxes. There wasn't enough money for everything."

"Your cash argument is really not helping your case," said Harry, darkly. "How do I reverse the spell?"

"I just need a little more time," the other man pleaded. "I'm nearly there. I almost have the last calculations."

The wizard narrowed his eyes. Despite himself, there was something about Adam that didn't strike him as viciously evil. Angry, yes. But not evil and strangely, not ambitious. "More time to do what?" he asked.

"To free my father," said Adam.

Harry stared at the other man, incredulously. "Your father's dead, Adam."

"And his soul is in hell, I know it," he replied, angrily. "My father repented on his death bed and that piece of shit priest wouldn't give him last rites. Who the hell was he to tell my father he deserved to go to hell?"

"Who are you to do the same thing?" Harry demanded.

"I take out people's sins," Adam defended. "Everyone has the chance to start fresh. To not depend on some sanctimonious religion to escape out of hell."

"Yeah, everyone but the people you don't like," said Harry, cynically. "Don't act like you're doing this for some greater good. You put that sin on your brother because you hated him."

"I tried to talk to Simon. He wouldn't listen to me," replied Adam, by way of explanation. "It doesn't matter. I just need to get my father out and then I'll be done."

"You can't eat the sin of someone already dead," said Harry, but already there was doubt creeping into his voice. Adam had found a way to remove the sins of the living. It was starting to look less impossible that he could do the same for the dead.

Seeing the conflict in the wizard's face, Adam leaned forward. "I'm almost there. I can draw out his soul. I just need to figure out the last part of my equation to extract his sins. I only need a little more time. Please."

"No," Harry shook his head. "Forget it."

The pleading look in Adam's eyes intensified. "Mr. Dresden, please, I-"

"You can't mess with the dead."

The wizard had barely gotten his words out when Adam grabbed the hockey stick's end with his hand. Instinctively, Harry let loose a charge that hit Adam's shoulder, propelling him backwards. While a howl of pain emitted from the other man, his free hand pulled out a gun from his jacket. Dodging Harry's second blast, Adam shot at the wizard.

While all three bullets were caught by the shield bracelet, the force of the sharp impact sent Harry sprawling onto the floor on his back.

_A gun. I'm expecting magical attacks and he's got a gun,_ thought Harry as he landed heavily on the ground.

Before he could scramble to his feet, Adam's foot connected very painfully with his ribs. A weight came down on his legs and he realized the other man was practically sitting on top of him. He saw the gun still gripped in Adam's hand and grabbed for it, trying to twist the business end of it away from him.

And then he felt something that was akin to a hammer slamming into his chest.

Adam Ewing pressed his free hand harder onto the wizard's thin shirt. His dark eyes, formally flat now shimmered as he searched out and saw the sin entwined within the wizard's soul. The markings on his fingers flared up a bright red as he grappled to get a hold of it.

Harry would have screamed in pain, but the air seemed to be sucked out of his lungs. It felt like very nerve in his body was being activated to participate in the worst agony he'd ever experienced. Then everything seemed to center within his chest where Adam's fingers clenched. His grip on the gun loosened.

Wrenching the weapon away, Adam unclenched his fingers and forcefully pushed back in what he'd half pulled out. If Harry thought extraction was painful, the reinserting was about ten times worse.

Standing up next to the writhing wizard, Adam re-pointed the gun. "I've got nothing against you. Really, I don't. But I can't let you…"

Adam paused, his dark eyes still shimmering as he tore his look from Harry. They narrowed as he stared at the tables spread out in the storefront. The searching, flickering eyes that could so easily detect the sins of so many before, widened.

From his place on the floor, Harry tried to catch his breath and found it was actually a lot less agonizing if he put that task on the back burner of a moment. He'd half been expecting Ewing to shoot him, which would have been a little less painful than what he felt right now.

"Come out!" He heard Adam shouting. "I can see you! Come out now or I blow his head off!"

Harry felt the cold metal jab harshly against his temple. And then there was the familiar sound of sparks and smoke. He tried to take a deep enough breath to tell Bob to get back in his skull, but his body seemed to be telling him he was lucky to be breathing at all and should be grateful for small wonders.

"Oh my god," Adam breathed. He stared at the materialized ghost who was looking anxiously at the fallen wizard. Ewing's eyes traveled over the sins that surrounded the spirit that had practically broadcasted its presence. But more importantly for Adam, he saw the runes etched on the manacles that encircled each pale wrist. And saw the additional markings on the skull where the ghost had come from.

Adam Ewing gave a short laugh that sounded derisive, insulted and oddly so incredibly happy all at once. It was the last thing Harry heard before the freight train in the guise of the butt of a gun slammed against his head.

Awhile later when the wizard woke up, he had a pounding in his head letting him know that he had a nice sized concussion. Ewing was gone. As was Bob's skull.


	9. Chapter 9

The next time Bob emerged from his skull, he expectedly was not anywhere familiar. 

After years of living with Harry who lit everything by candles and whose decrepit answering machine from 1989 was the most modern thing he owned, it was strange to now be in a room crammed with dimly lit lamps and even a computer in the corner. Granted, it looked as if the computer hadn't been used for a good long while based on the layer of dust.

Shelves lined the walls, having been manually installed with great care that they be perfectly straight and firmly supported. Each shelf held about six, rubix cube sized boxes that looked like they were made of iron. On the outside of each were intricate carvings etched into the metal. They matched the sigils that Bob had seen earlier on Ewing's hands. Unnervingly, he'd never seen such symbols before.

Hunched over a desk was the man in question. While he must have known the ghost had materialized behind him, he kept his back to the spirit as he continued to study the skull between his hands.

"How long have you been tied to this skull?" Ewing asked, keeping his eyes locked on the bones. When Bob didn't answer, he twisted in his seat to look at the spirit. Surprisingly, Ewing looked only curious. The man's eyes, that had remained glimmering when he made his escape from Harry's office with the skull, now looked normal again as he studied the spectral prisoner. "It looks old."

"Yes, very," replied Bob, coldly.

"Did he trap you in here?" asked Ewing. "The wizard?"

It dawned on the ghost that despite Ewing's obviously intense research in gaining his powers of sin eating, he might not have any idea of the greater network of wizards out there. He most likely didn't even know there was a very effective tracking system attached to the skull he was currently holding.

"No," he answered, shortly. Harry, while knocked out when Bob last saw him, was still alive and not in any mortal peril. It would only be a matter of time before the wizard woke up and no doubt contact the wardens to hunt down the stolen skull.

Ewing appeared blissfully unaware of the Trojan horse he had in his hands. "The biggest problem I had was where to put the sins. These iron boxes would eventually wear down. But this," he held up the skull. "Yours are ingrained into your bones. It's perfect."

"Very convenient," said Bob, darkly.

Ewing's eyes moved from the skull to the spirit. The dark orbs shimmered again as he gazed upon the ghost. "You're my key," he said in near awe. It almost looked as if Ewing was seeing something all together breath-takingly beautiful. "I can see your sins. They're entwined to your soul like threads. But there's only one that ties you to your skull." He narrowed his eyes as he regarded the ghost, "It's almost...bled into your soul. And to the skull." He reached out a hand as if to touch the spirit.

Despite himself, Bob took a step backwards. Ewing stopped his approach and withdrew his hand. "Sorry," he apologized, much to Bob's surprise. "You have no idea how glad I am to meet you," he said. "The spell that traps you here is the last piece I need to free my father. I can bind him to his bones as your are to your skull. And from there I can release him."

"You can't eat the sins of someone already dead," said Bob, neutrally.

"Not yet."

Sitting back down at his desk, Ewing pulled out a regular plastic pen from the drawer. He broke it in half and let the ink pool onto the desk top. Drawing out a needle, he dipped the tip of it into the black ink as he traced one of the sigils on Bob's skull. Carefully, he pressed the ink-tipped needle to one of his fingers and began to carve.

"I can extract the sins out and hold them long enough for his soul to be free," murmured Ewing. "After that, I can have them return to the bones."

"Where did you learn this magic?" asked Bob, seeing the familiar markings on his skull now form next to the unfamiliar symbols on Ewing's fingers. The man didn't answer as he kept his attention to his work. "You really think this will work? That you'll be able to release your father's soul from hell?" he inquired.

Ewing smiled at the cynicism as he kept going with his home made tattoos. "Yes," he answered. 

There was a steely confidence in the man's voice. And Bob knew that in Ewing's mind, he would be successful because to him there was no other option. If he had to, Ewing would pry open hell itself to save his father's soul. This determination had been his strength to devise spells and gain power that even normal wizards might not be able to accomplish. But it had also caused tunnel vision in Ewing. And that would be the cause of his downfall.

Watching Ewing work, Bob felt an odd sensation of empathy. Not because Adam had helped criminals duck out of their crimes. Or that he'd cursed his own brother's soul out of anger. But because Bob knew he himself had done so much worse all those years ago in the name of his cause. Where his entire world was whittled down to just one goal and he'd raced toward it, ready to rip back what death had taken from him, while the rest of the world grayed and faded from his sight and better judgement. And it was only so much later that he'd lifted up his head and realized he had failed before he'd even begun.

And like him, Adam Ewing would fail. And would realize it much too late. 

Blood seeped from Ewing's fingers as he finished the last of his tattoos. As he wiped off the excess red, the fresh symbols on his hands glowed. In response, his eyes flared and shimmered all the brighter. He flexed his right hand, rising from his seat. He looked at the ghost again, his gaze probing.

"Do you want to be free?" he asked.

"Yes," Bob answered, truthfully.

"I can eat your sin. The one that ties you to the skull."

Bob smiled and nearly laughed. Because even after all these centuries, his curse felt suddenly very fresh as if put on him yesterday. And he could hear footsteps approaching from somewhere downstairs.

"Thank you for the offer, Mr. Ewing," he replied.

And he saw the mildly confused look on the other man's face at his answer before he heard the door being splintered down by a warden's blast. Despite everything, he knew how surprised Adam Ewing would be at being captured. That after all the years of hardship and dedication, that he should come this close only to fail. Bob had felt just that when he'd been caught.

_And we all get caught in the end. _


	10. Chapter 10

Well, this is the end everyone! Big thanks to everyone who read and took the time to reply. Feedback and reviews are a writer's tea and biscuits. The Grand Prize of Win goes to **RhiannonB** who correctly guessed where I got Adam Ewing's name. Everyone should go out and read books by David Mitchell. He's an absolutely fabulous writer and I adore his work. He's simply amazing. Anyway, enough gushing, here it is:

* * *

In general, Harry hated meetings with the High Council. He only had bad memories. But meeting with them while nursing a concussion was a whole new hateful experience. 

Panic at having Bob stolen had prompted the wizard to call on Morgan for help with little weighing of the pros and cons of bringing the High Council into this. The Head Enforcer and his small army of wardens had done an admirable job of locating Adam Ewing via the skull he'd taken with him. At first, Harry couldn't believe someone so powerful hadn't even bothered to put protective wards in his home. But an inventory of Ewing's place explained a lot.

The iron boxes they'd found on the shelves were mostly stuffed with sins he'd removed from other people. But there were a few empty ones. Further exploration revealed a drawer of vials wrapped in heavily marked cloth. The glasses were filled with what looked like blood. Harry noticed one of the vials had Simon's name on it. Apart from those items, there were old texts. Some were grimmoires that Harry recognized. But others were documents, scrolls, old parchments that were unfamiliar. But it was obvious that all of Ewing's research had been centered in the nature of sin eating…and conjuring spirits for when he finally got the answer and could free his father's soul. Ewing had known nothing about the greater circle of wizards out there, other than the fact that a few sorcerers might exist. He certainly had no clue of the High Council and their very rigid judicial systems. And he probably hadn't cared. He'd just wanted to find a way to eat his father's sins.

Ewing had attempted an escape. But considering his only skill was in sin eating, he was no match against Morgan. He'd been quickly subdued and readied for trial. Or so Morgan told him.

Harry's current meeting, standing in Adam's former residence, had less to do with Adam's fate and more about how much the sin eater had shared with Bob before his capture. And more so, the meeting with the Council had less to do with Harry and more about the spirit currently in his possession.

"Order the ghost to answer truthfully to all questions posed to him," commanded Ancient Mai.

The wizard thought to argue as to why Bob would lie. But as it was obvious the ghost's testimony would mean nothing to the Council unless he'd been commanded by his owner to speak the truth, an order the spirit could not refuse as dictated by the limits of his cursed state.

Harry looked over at Bob, whose expression was impressively unreadable when it came to matters with the Council. "Bob, when they ask you questions, don't lie," he said. There was the barest hint of a smile on the spectral face at the flippant tone of Harry's command. Ancient Mai, however, was not amused.

"Dresden," she said, warningly.

"Fine, fine. Bob-"

"Dresden." Morgan, who stood by the diminutive woman added to the warning.

Sighing, Harry gave in. The sooner they did this, the sooner they could all go home. "Hrothbert of Bainbridge, answer all questions posed to you truthfully," he recited, formally. "Happy?" he asked Mai.

"That all depends on what he tells me," replied the Asian woman. "Why did Ewing take the skull?" she asked.

"He felt my curse would be helpful in finding a way to release his father from his sins," Bob answered, his expression back to business.

"And was he correct?"

"He felt he was," the ghost responded.

"Tell me how he planned on releasing his father."

"He hoped to bind his father's ghost to his bones, copying the spell put on my skull," Bob replied. "From there, he planned on eating his father's sin and then once the ghost was free, bind the sin back to the bones."

Mai's eyes narrowed. "His reasoning means he knew how your curse worked." There was something faintly accusatory in her tone.

"He has the ability to see sins," Bob explained, patiently. "He saw that my soul was tethered to the skull by my transgressions. He constructed a spell that would allow him to remove the sins of those already dead."

"Explain how the spell works."

"I do not know how the spell works," said Bob. "He has sigils tattooed on his hands, but I did not recognize them."

"But you believe he was successful?"

"He believed he was," said the ghost.

"I am not asking you if he believed," Mai said, tersely. "I am asking you what you believe."

Bob paused before answering, thinking on his response. As he did so, Harry noticed something close to melancholy drift quickly by the pale face. "I believe so," the spirit finally answered. "But I cannot be sure. He did not have a chance to test his spell."

"Did he offer to release you?" asked Mai.

"Yes."

"Did you accept?"

"I had not given an answer before Mr. Ewing was captured," Bob replied, ignoring the look Harry was giving him.

Considering the answer, the Head Councilwoman regarded her spectral witness. "You say you didn't recognize the symbols on Ewing's hands, but you remember them? Their construct?"

"Mai, where are you going with this?" Harry interrupted, getting another one of those warning glares from Morgan.

"Answer my question," said Mai, ignoring the wizard.

"Yes," the ghost answered, shortly.

"Well enough to reconstruct them?"

Bob gave the woman a cold look. "How would I reconstruct them?"

"You couldn't," she agreed. "But you could always tell Dresden or your next owner how," she pointed out, her tones casual. "You were that close to freedom. Would you really let it go so easily?"

"I only saw the sigils on Mr. Ewing's fingers and left palm. Not all of which I can completely recall, nor did I see the symbols carved into his right hand," Bob answered, keeping his voice flat to deride the councilwoman's insinuations.

"Is that so?" she inquired, not bothering to hide her disliking for the spirit.

"Mai, you know he can't lie to you," Harry interjected, angrily.

"If you're so very concerned, throw my skull down to the bottom of the sea," Bob suggested, blithely.

"Bob, shut up! THAT is a command," Harry ordered, not putting it past the Council. "His skull's rightfully mine and it's staying on dry land."

"Calm down, Dresden," Morgan said.

But Mai looked unperturbed and only gave Bob an assessing look before proclaiming, lightly, "We're done." She moved to leave. "Go home, Dresden. And take your skull."

"What about Simon?" asked Harry. The councilwoman gave him a blank stare. "My client's fiance. His soul is still cursed."

"I have no care for your business," said Mai.

The wizard took a step forward. "But-"

"The Council will be taking possession of Ewing's items," said Morgan, moving in front of him. "Along with taking charge of the sins he has removed. Which we will rectify." When Harry didn't budge, the warden forcefully took him by the shoulder. "You are not needed. Leave, Dresden. Go home."

* * *

A few days after the meeting in Adam Ewing's apartment, there was a fire in the building. The fire department had chalked it up to faulty wiring. While no one was hurt in the ensuing inferno, the entire place had burnt to the ground. Nothing was salvaged.

No one saw Adam Ewing again. Not any new potential clients and not the club's owner, Mr. Witt, who had searched out for Adam after he'd woken up one day with a horrible sense of foreboding in his heart that he'd only had before the murder of a female dancer had been pulled out from him. The surviving Ayers never heard from him. Nor did they ever seek him out. Ewing was gone from the world and it seemed no one cared. Or cared enough to inquire.

The last to ask about the status of Adam Ewing was Ancient Mai herself. She'd posed the question to one of her wardens, who'd then presented her with a bag. She nodded at its contents, noting with satisfaction that the eyes had been removed from the severed head and destroyed separately and that the detached hands were burned, obliterating all traces of the sigils that had once been tattooed on them.

Harry had treated his concussion by not sleeping for the first eight hours and then sleeping for ten. During his waking moments, he chewed Tylenol to help with his lingering headache. Pauline Gordon dropped by soon afterwards. It seemed the two had switched places in last few days. The woman looked fresh and remarkably well-rested to Harry's disheveled appearance. She'd come to thank the wizard for a job well done as it seemed her headaches were gone.

When Harry held the crystal over Simon's rosary, it remained clear. It seemed Simon had moved on, the Council having been successful of breaking his curse.

While it was nice to see a satisfied client, the relief and ease with which Pauline seemed to move on with her life was something a little….depressing for the wizard. Pauline's eagerness to push forward reminded him too much of Adam Ewing's family who had been willing to leave him behind to embrace a new life.

"You didn't expect her to pine away forever, did you?" asked Bob. "It's healthier that she move on with her life."

Harry ignored the irony of Bob being the one giving him that piece of information. "Yeah, I know it." He eyed the ghost who was looking at nothing in particular, but whose expression suggested he was suddenly miles away from Harry. "Something on your mind?" he asked.

Bob shook himself slightly. "Thinking on Ewing, I suppose." Neither had any doubt Adam Ewing was now disposed of.

"You feeling sorry for him?" asked Harry. He hadn't meant for his voice to sound as harsh as it did.

But the ghost only shrugged at the acerbic tone. "Not quite how I would put it. But I suppose I do feel some sympathy for his blindness in his cause. And it's not every day you meet someone who can so clearly see you for what you are."

"That's crap. He could only see your sins. That's not all we are."

"Well, not all of you."

"Not you either," said Harry, sounding slightly pissed off. "Bob, don't do that."

"Sorry," the ghost apologized.

Harry knew that while Bob had shared with him the transgression that earned him eternal damnation, there were still things in his old teacher's past, perhaps horrifying things, that he'd not yet shared with him. Perhaps he never would. But in his short time with the spirit, Adam Ewing had seen each and every one of those offenses. And in that respect, Ewing was close to Bob in a way that Harry might never be.

And the wizard wouldn't say that made him jealous. But…well, jealous was a good a word as any.

"I'm sorry…about how it all turned out," Harry offered, awkwardly. "I mean…if Adam really did figure out a way to free you…"

"There's no guarantee that his spell would have even worked on me."

"Still," said Harry. "If we'd been a little slower then maybe…" he trailed off. As selfish as he felt, the idea that Bob might have been freed and moved on before the wizard would have had at least a chance to say goodbye struck a pang in him.

"Or if I'd been a little faster at answering, I suppose," Bob replied. "I'd paused to think it over."

"Paused?"

The ghost gave him a softened look that made Harry feel a lot younger all of a sudden. "Well, after all these years of working together, to simply leave you on your own felt a little rude," he said.

Over 500 years of damnation with the key to his liberty presented to him and Bob had stopped to consider what it would mean should he leave Harry behind.

And knowing that, Harry felt achingly grateful.

THE END


End file.
